Dry Clean Only
by Alexandria-likethecityinEgypt
Summary: After attempting to make up for a blunder he made while on patrol, 9-yr old Dick learns a valuable lesson about laundry. A tiny bit of language. {Currently 10th in the Young Dick Grayson series.} (Lots of humor and plenty of fluff) I own nothing . . . sigh.
1. Dry Clean Only - pt 1

**This story was inspired by a discussion with and a story written by Kira Sema. Thanks for the inspiration, Kira!**

* * *

Dick took off his mask and laid it carefully on the tray made for it. He stood there shivering as water from the Gotham River made a puddle at his feet. His boots made squishing noises every time he moved. The river water had helped cleanse the smell of the sewer, but not all of it. His nose wrinkled again in response to a particularly disgusting whiff.

He stood there miserable watching as Bruce stripped off his cape and cowl. It was his fault, he knew. Batman had _told_ him to stay with him at the beginning of the fight; to not wander off. The two gangs they had run across had more than chains and knives as weapons; they had had guns. None of the ten teenagers cared that the area they had chosen for their throw down was edging upon a residential area, or that the bullets could hit a child or parent or grandparent.

Batman had taken on the vast majority of the members; seven of them to be exact. Robin had only to neutralize three. The first two had been relatively easy.

He had swung in onto one teen's back, knocking him forward onto his knees. Robin had used the momentum to roll close to the teen that the older boy had been fighting. Robin had swept the second guy's feet out from under him, and hit then hit him in the face with an elbow.

The first teen was staggering upright when Robin had flipped back onto his feet. His crescent kick sent the older boy's weapon skittering under a parked car. When the teen went to grab him, Robin had leaped over the guy's head, and using his back as a springboard, flipped away. The push from Robin's feet was enough to overbalance the young thug, and he went sprawling head first into the side of the parked truck.

Two down!

Batman had taken down four of the seven teens in the same amount of time. So, while he concentrated his efforts on the remaining three, Robin turned to the last guy he needed to deal with.

The young man had watched in awe as the Dark Knight and his colorful apprentice were quickly demolishing both his and the enemy gang. He wanted no part of the Bat. When Robin turned to him, he decided it would be better to retreat and be free to fight another day. He ran.

Caught up in the adrenaline rush, Robin forgot his mentor's instructions and chased the older boy. When the kid ducked into an open manhole, Robin didn't even think about it before he jumped in after his quarry. What he wasn't expecting was to run into six more members of his target's gang in the sewer. Had Batman not followed so quickly on his trail, Robin might not have escaped the situation with naught, but an unsavory scent and a dip in the freezing, late-November river.

He and Batman had both ended up in the Gotham River before the fight had ended. Although it had helped the smell greatly, they had still been forced to drive back to the Batcave with the windows down and the heater on high.

* * *

Bruce was taking his boots off, stopping to pour water out of each, when he noticed Dick still standing in the same spot as he had been when they had first walked into the changing room. It was too cold to not strip off their uniforms immediately. They were both in danger of hypothermia; the boy more so than him.

"Dick, what's wrong," he asked, stopping and moving to the child.

His head was bowed, and water dripped off of his hair to add to the puddle between his feet. When he didn't answer immediately, Bruce kneeled down in front of him. He tipped the boy's face up, examining him for symptoms of hypothermia. He frowned. Dick was cold, but he was still shivering. He hadn't reached a dangerous level as yet . . . But he would if he weren't stripped of his wet clothing.

"Here, let me help you get out of this," he said.

Bruce talked to him as he took off the sopping cape and soaked tunic. He sat the boy on the bench to take off his boots for him. They were filled with water. He poured them out and set them aside. Dick's feet had the puckered skin that came of being in water for too long. His own probably looked similar.

"Master Bruce," Alfred's voice called from the main chamber of the cave. "You are back from patrol early."

"In here, Alfred," Bruce called back.

The butler came in and immediately took a step back out. "Oh dear, what is that . . . aroma?"

Bruce chuckled. "Eau de Sewage, Alfred. What? You don't care for it?"

"It does tend to make one's eyes water," he told the younger man.

Bruce snorted. "You should have gotten a whiff of us before we took a dip in the river. We probably need to air out the Batmobile overnight."

"Indeed," Alfred made a note of it. He would tend to it just as soon as he took care of the masters' uniforms.

Alfred paused as he noticed the young sir's silence. The boy always seemed incapable of stillness, and his never-ending chatter quickly brightened any room. For him to be so still and quiet now was alarming.

"Is the young master injured," he asked, worried.

Bruce answered for him. "No, I don't believe so. Just very cold. I'm going to help him shower and get dressed. He should feel more the thing once he's tucked into his flannel pajamas and drinking some hot chocolate, I think."

Alfred laid a hand on the child's cheek. "Perhaps I should take his temperature," he murmured. "We don't want to use too warm of water until his temperature has been brought back to up to normal."

"You're concerned?" Bruce frowned. Dick had yet to speak since they had climbed into the Batmobile after their dip. Maybe there was something wrong with the boy, after all.

"I don't believe it is dangerously low," Alfred remarked, producing said thermometer and tucking it under the boy's tongue. "But it is better to be safe. The water of the Gotham River must have been quite chilly this time of year."

Bruce shivered. "You are the king of understatement tonight, Alfred."

"I look forward to hearing all about it. The story sounds like it is to be quite riveting."

Dick's head came up at this point. His eyes panicked, and his lower lip protruding despite the thermometer. He shook his head; his eyes pleading.

"What is it, Dick," he asked. "What's the matter?"

Alfred pulled the thermometer out of his mouth. "Ninety-six point two degrees; too low, but not dangerously so. He will feel better once he gets warmed up."

"Please, don't tell Alfred," Dick begged, his voice a whisper.

"Ah, so _that_ is what this is all about, eh, chum?" He shook his head.

Their present difficulty was a direct result of Dick's disobedience. Bruce hadn't planned on saying anything about it tonight, however. They were both too cold and miserable to add a rebuke and punishment to it. But it _would_ be addressed . . . preferably tomorrow morning. His actions could have resulted in circumstances far worse than what had actually occurred.

Alfred raised a curious eyebrow, but didn't remark. He understood immediately that the masters' current predicament had obviously been the fault of a young Robin. He was certain that he would be hearing about it eventually from Master Bruce, but there was no use upsetting the child any more than he already was.

"All right, chum," Bruce assured him. He helped him finishing stripping; pulled off the last of his own uniform, and tossed the boy a towel. "Let's go get cleaned up. I'm tired of the smell, aren't you?"

Dick nodded, and scurried ahead.

* * *

Eventually they walked out of the shower; Bruce with his towel tucked around his waist and Dick with his towel under his arms. Already small for a nine year old, his towel resembled a dress; reaching from his armpit to his knee. Bruce was followed the boy closely; rubbing the water out of his hair vigorously and making the child laugh as he tried to duck and dodge.

Alfred was just hanging up the Batsuit as the two entered the changing area. It smelled better, Dick thought, but he frowned at how wet the Batsuit still was. There was a large puddle beneath it.

Bruce sighed. "It'll be lucky if it isn't still wet by tomorrow night. That won't be fun."

"I'll locate a bottle of baby powder for you, sir," Alfred offered.

"_Baby powder_," Dick yelped, offended for his mentor's sake.

Bruce ruffled the boy's damp hair. "It helps with the chafing, chum," he explained. "Otherwise the damp material can rub you raw as you move."

Dick looked from the suit to Bruce and back again. This was way worse than he could have imagined! Either Bruce had to endure the humiliation of wearing powder for _babies_, or he would have to let the wet suit rub his skin off! And it was all _his_ fault!

He bit his lower lip in consternation. He watched Alfred pick up his uniform.

"Not to worry, young sir," Alfred assured him. "I have no doubt that your Robin uniform will be dry in time for tomorrow's patrol. It isn't nearly as heavy as Master Batman's."

Dick's face turned red with embarrassment. This was all his fault! There had to be _something_ he could do to fix this . . .

* * *

The manor was quiet as Dick crawled back into his bed a few hours later with a satisfied smile. Bruce would be much happier to be able to wear a comfortable Batsuit without the help of some dumb baby powder. He closed his eyes happily; dreaming the dreams of the innocent.


	2. Dry Clean Only - pt 2

Bruce smiled at Robin as he practiced on the parallel bars. The boy had taken his lecture on obedience in the field quite well; paying close attention and maintaining a serious demeanor. He had no doubt that tonight Robin wouldn't run off in pursuit of a criminal without Batman's express approval.

What they did was far too dangerous to take it so lightly. Bruce knew as well as anybody that taking a nine year old out to battle crime at night was a terrible idea. If Dick had been any other child, he would never have consented to his training and induction into the violent world of crime fighting. But the boy had been different from the moment Bruce had met him. His intelligence, talent, and understanding was far above the norm, and his genuine need to help prevent his own tragedy from repeating itself had been integral in the Batman's decision to train him.

There were times, however, like the previous evening when he questioned himself. This was a recipe for catastrophe. It was only a matter of time, and he knew it. His desperation to put off the disaster a little while longer was the root of his seemingly endless list of rules that he forced the boy to follow religiously.

He walked into the changing room and stripped in preparation of donning the Batman persona. Grabbing the bottom portion of his Batsuit, he sat and began pulling the legs over his feet. Bruce frowned when they proved snug as he drew them up over his calves. He stood up and attempted to slide them over his thighs. They got stuck mere inches above his knees.

"What the . . ." He growled.

He yanked, gaining another inch. He yanked again, this time while jumping. He got them to the top of his thighs finally, but he felt so confined by them that he thought he might fall over. He struggled to wriggle them over his buttocks.

Bruce stared down in annoyance and perplexity. The pants barely covered his butt! If he bent over, he was certain he would resemble a plumber from behind. What the hell happened overnight? He had eaten before going to bed, but not so much that could possibly result in this drastic of a change.

"Alfred!"

He grabbed the tunic from the hanger, and pulled it onto his arms. It too was snug! He yanked it over his head, but nothing would compel the blasted top to make the journey over the bulging pectoral muscles of his chest.

"Alfred," he yelled louder this time.

_This is ridiculous_, he groused to himself. He tried to pull the shirt back over his head so he could take it off, but it wouldn't budge. It seemed to get stuck beneath his armpits, unable to drag it over his triceps.

"ALFRED," he roared.

Two sets of feet came pounding toward the changing room. Robin stumbled to a halt in the doorway; his mouth hanging open. One didn't need to see his eyes behind the mask's lenses to know that they were as round as saucers. Alfred nearly sent the lad tumbling as he rounded the corner and slid to a stop in shock.

"Good Lord," the man gasped. "I-I don't understand . . ."

Normally, Bruce would have paid good money to see his unflappable butler speechless in just about any circumstance, but not _this_ one. He wanted to know what had happened to his Batsuit . . . And he wanted, perhaps even more than _that_ vital bit of knowledge, **_out_** of it!

"That is something I would like to understand as well," he grumbled. He couldn't even put his arms down all the way. Instead they stuck out to his sides like some kind of ridiculous stick figure.

"Alfred, how could something like this happen," Bruce demanded to know.

The man pushed the shocked youngster gently out of his path, and moved into the room; circling his charge in astounded mystification. "I am at a loss, sir. I cleaned the suit as I have on previous occasions and hung it up to dry. This should not have happened."

"This is unacceptable, Alfred. Something different had to have occurred for it to shrink like this!" Bruce turned in a circle as well in order to keep his servant in his sights.

"I-I cannot imagine . . . It is an enigma, sir."

As the shock of what he was seeing passed; Alfred had to place a hand over his mouth. The entire situation was becoming rather amusing, but he knew that Master Bruce would be less than pleased should the Englishman give in to the urge to chuckle.

Bruce sighed, and grunted. It was getting a little hard to breathe like this. The armored tunic felt as if it were trying to strangle him; not to mention becoming somewhat claustrophobic.

"Do . . ." he panted. "Do you think . . . you could help me out of this now . . . Please?"

Alfred blinked rapidly, his hand clamped over his mouth. He didn't move for a moment with the exception of a suspicious looking shake about his shoulders. Bruce narrowed his eyes on the older man, glaring. Somehow the batglare was far less effective than normal in this particular situation. The shaking of the butler's shoulders increased in intensity. Alfred held up a finger, and then, turning, he walked quickly and quietly out of the room.

Bruce stared in alarmed dismay at his manservant's retreating back. His startled eyes latched onto Robin, still standing frozen beside the door with his jaw dangling. As he watched, the boy's mouth slowly closed, and his lip quivered before sliding in between his teeth.

It didn't take a genius to figure out his butler had left the room in order to regain control of his countenance. It also didn't take a very great detective to determine the guilty mien of a certain nine year old boy.

Bruce had tucked the child in the previous night before turning in himself. Alfred would have soon followed. Dick had been with Bruce throughout most of the next day, so it was likely that whatever befell his suit had happened sometime before breakfast. It was fast becoming obvious that Dick hadn't remained in bed for the entirety of the night.

"Dick?"

_Dick_, not Robin . . . The boy gulped.

"Do you want to tell me something?"

Bruce was getting breathless. He hoped how soon Alfred managed to recover his composure sufficiently enough that he could come and assist him out of this damned Chinese torture device!

The boy shook his head.

Bruce sighed. All right, it was more like _gasped_ for breath, but he had meant to sigh. "Dick, is there something that you **_should_** be telling me?"

Dick nodded, but remained silent. A single tear slid out from under Robin's mask, and slithered down his cheek. His shoulders shook, but for a completely different reason than had the butler's. He didn't know what the boy had done, but Dick obviously had not expected the unforeseen consequences of whatever actions he had taken. And he was taking it quite hard.

"Dick, it's okay," he said, trying to be calm. It wouldn't do to upset the boy more than he already was. "Come over here."

Bruce tried to sit on the bench, but unable to see well enough to judge the distance, he sat back too far, and tipped backward. His head banged into the combination locker and shelving unit where he always kept a change of clothing and towels. He slid down between the bench and the shelving unit; his legs up in the air.

_Gah_! This was so not happening . . . Except it was. All he needed now to make his humiliation complete was for Clark to walk through that door!

He struggled to get up; being forced to roll to his side and slide his body between the two items of furniture. By the time he had straightened up into a kneeling position, Dick was gone.

Alfred ran into the room. "I heard a loud noise, sir . . ." he raised an eyebrow as Bruce crawled out from his less than dignified position. The butler was back in total control of himself as he moved to assist his eldest charge back to his feet.

"Did you see Dick when you came back in," Bruce asked, panting in exertion. This was harder than facing down those two rival gangs the night before!

"Yes, sir. The boy was running toward the computer." Alfred grabbed hold of the back of the tunic and tugged. "_Ngh_!" The butler grunted. It was going to require some effort to relieve the master of his garments, the elder man thought to himself.

"The computer?" That made no sense. His mind slipped elsewhere, however, as he struggled toward freedom.

* * *

It took some time, but with Alfred's assistance, Bruce was finally relieved of the stricture of his shrunken Batsuit. He threw on the first thing he found; a t-shirt and a pair of sweats he normally wore when working out, and moved out into the cave in search of his wayward ward. He was surprised by what he found.

On the computer chair lay Robin's uniform and mask. Dick had indeed went to the computer, but only to change.

Bruce walked upstairs, checking each of the rooms as he passed, on his way to the boy's bedroom. Sure enough, Dick sat on the window seat in his room already wearing his pajamas. It was a little startling to discover the boy ready for bed so early. He didn't acknowledge Bruce's presence, although he had to know he was here.

"Mind if I join you, chum?"

Dick shrugged, sniffling. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. Bruce winced, but said nothing. Alfred wasn't present to protest, and Bruce thought he had more important issues to discuss with the child at the moment than hygiene.

Bruce sat on the seat beside him, and looked out onto the night. It was cloudy tonight. Very few stars were out, and the moon was hidden. There wasn't much else to see that would hold a young boy's attention, but Dick stared outside as if the darkness held a fascination for him.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Bruce," came the whisper.

Bruce didn't turn his head, but watched Dick's reflection in the glass. It was all he could do not to bundle the child onto his lap to comfort him, but he knew that the boy wasn't ready for comforting yet. He was still working up the courage for his confession.

"For what, chum?"

His lip quivered, and more tears streaked down the boy's face. Dick was slender, but his cheeks still held the roundness of childhood.

"I w-was only tr-trying to help," he whimpered.

"How's that?"

"I-I felt bad that you had to get w-wet to save m-me." Dick struggled to get the words out. "I d-didn't want you to have to w-wear powder or . . . or ch-chafe."

Bruce didn't comment, but waited; allowing the boy the time he needed to get his confession out.

"So I-I got up last night, and p-put your Batsuit in the d-dryer."

At that, Bruce did look at him. "If that was all that was needed, chum, don't you think that Alfred would have done that in the first place instead of hanging it?"

"I-I didn't know it would d-do that," Dick cried, turning to look miserably at his guardian. "I only w-wanted to help! Bruce, I-I'm sorry! Please, don't send me a-away!"

"What?" Bruce stared at the child who was now clutching his knees to his chest and sobbing.

_Enough of this_, he thought, scooping the child up into his arms. "Ah, Dickie, I wouldn't send you away! This is your home now. While having my Batsuit shrunk wasn't convenient or ideal, it isn't nearly enough to make me want to send you away." He tipped the child's head back with his finger, so he could look the boy in the eye. "In fact, I cannot think of anything that could ever possibly make that happen. No, I'm afraid you are stuck with me."

Dick gulped, swallowing his tears. "Forever?"

Bruce smiled. "Forever," he promised.

Dick threw his arms around his guardian's neck in a bone-crushing hug. Bruce chuckled and hugged the child back, rocking him in his embrace.

The boy pulled back suddenly. "But what about Batman?'

"What about Batman?" Bruce frowned.

"You don't have your Batsuit anymore, so how are you going to be Batman?"

"I have a few spares around I can use in the meantime," Bruce reassured him. "But from now on leave the cleaning _and_ drying of it up to Alfred. Deal?" He put his hand out for the child to shake.

Dick smiled happily, and shook the man's hand. "Deal!"

Bruce picked Dick up and lightly tossed him on the bed. The boy bounced three times before scrambling under the covers, giggling. As Bruce moved to tuck him in for the night, Dick sat up.

"Isn't Batman going out tonight," he asked. "I mean, since you have other suits to use?"

"Not tonight, chum," Bruce smiled. "Tomorrow is soon enough for Batman and Robin to start patrolling again. In the meantime, after you go to sleep, I think I'll head back to the cave and start drawing up the specs for a brand-new Batsuit."

Dick's cerulean-blue eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Don't worry, chum," he told him. "You can see it tomorrow and put in your two-cents."

"My two-cents?"

"Your opinion." Bruce touched his chest, and when Dick looked down, flicked the boy in the nose. It was probably the only time the trick would work on the boy. Bruce would likely never catch him unaware enough to play that particular joke on him again. He grinned, however, when Dick giggled. "I think Robin should have a say in it, too, don't you?"

"Really," Dick squealed. He started bouncing.

Bruce groaned. He probably should have waited until tomorrow to tell him he could have some input into the new design. Now the boy would likely be up all night, too excited to sleep.

"Yes," he promised. "But only if you go to sleep tonight."

"Aw," Dick whined, but settled under the covers without further complaint.

Bruce pressed his forehead against Dick's. "Sleep tight, chum. Dream of neat gadgets, okay?"

The happiness shining out of those eyes felt like the sun breaking through the gloom that had once enshrouded his life;_ had _enshrouded his life. Until an eight year old acrobat had squirmed his way into his heart, that is.

"Okay," Dick said on a yawn. He snuggled down and closed his eyes.

Running his hand through the raven hair, Bruce leaned in and kissed the top of his head. He sighed as he turned to walk out of the room. He had been thinking about upgrading the suit anyway. There was no time like the present.


End file.
